I Fight for the Users
by Stelartron
Summary: Tron fights for the Users. Always has; always will. Clu can't have that. Tron has become a problem. And problems need to be rectified. Tron's transformation to Rinzler  mostly  through his own eyes. Spoilers for Legacy, Betrayal, and Evolution.
1. Betrayal

Irony. I'm not certain if I completely understand the term. Flynn had tried to explain it to me once, but it had proven difficult for me to grasp. However, I suspect that the term 'ironic' could be applied to my current situation.

I had been walking along with my User, my friend, Kevin Flynn, the Creator of the Grid. Sometimes, in my rare quiet moments, I would pause and think on the wonder of my current function, a giddy sort of awe dancing through my code like a stray, mischievous bit. All programs exist to serve the Users, of course, but to have such a close, personal relationship with one, to have one call me 'friend' and to be able to honestly use the term in return… how many programs were so fortunate?

I fight for the Users. It is written deeply into my code, embedded in my very core. And I did so gladly, keeping the Grid and my fellow programs safe. For the Users. For Alan-1, who'd written me. For Flynn, my friend. And for all the other Users, who I'd had no direct contact with. I fought for them, and in fulfilling my function, I too was fulfilled.

Yes, all in all, despite the gridbugs and other difficulties, life on the Grid was good. Until recently, anyway. In retrospect, I should have seen the signs earlier, the subtle warnings that something was amiss. Even after I'd realized that Clu's drive to create the 'perfect system' was getting out of hand, I thought I could handle it myself. It was, after all, my function.

I'd finally taken action after I'd seen several other programs attempting to derez one who'd lost a game to them. On Clu's orders, they'd told me. This was not what Flynn had wanted. When I'd confronted him about it, he was calm, polite, reasonable. Too much so. He had no intention of putting things back the way Flynn had ordained. That much had been clear. Still, he could not change me; I'd continued to steadfastly refuse to derez my opponents. I'd thought that perhaps I could 'lead by example' as Flynn had said, and that other programs would follow my lead.

I was wrong. Oh, I'd had my supporters, of course, but no one wanted to go against Clu, not really. He was cast in the Creator's image. To many of them, he was like a second Flynn; they seemed to forget that he was a program; a very special program, yes, but a program still, and not a User. Even I was guilty of it, to a certain degree; perhaps that is why I couldn't see how far he had fallen, until it was too late.

Until I'd stood with Flynn, on the shore of the poisoned Sea of Simulation. Until I'd seen the look of broken sorrow on the faces of the ISOs… and on Flynn's face. Something deep in my core had twisted painfully; failure. I had failed. It wasn't the first time, of course, but never before had so many innocents paid the price for my failure. Never before had I failed my User, my friend, in such a profound way.

He didn't blame me, of course. Flynn, that is. Even though I'd offered to take some of the blame, upon our return to the Grid proper. No, it was his responsibility, he'd said, and he would find a way to fix it, just as he'd promised the ISO Ophelia. Humbly, I'd offered to help him; even if he'd said that he didn't blame me, I still felt the need to atone for my mistakes. He'd smiled in that oddly vulnerable way that he had, that way that somehow made his User nature more obvious and that Clu could never quite match, and said that he'd be glad to have my help.

Which brings us back to the present. Not long after that, I was walking with Flynn, telling him what I had discovered about Clu, and discussing what could be done about it, when suddenly, Clu himself came walking up to us. Something had changed about him, though; something was… off.

"Am I still to create the perfect system?", he asked Flynn.

"Yeah…", Flynn replied simply, as though Clu were asking something that should be very obvious.

It wasn't until then that I realized _what _had changed about Clu. It was something I hadn't seen since the cycles of the MCP's tyranny so long ago, and that I'd hoped to never see again. That malevolent orange-red glow that Flynn had once compared unfavorably to burning coals, whatever those were.

Several of Clu's guards stepped out from concealed positions, weapons ready. An ambush! "Flynn, go!", I ordered him, drawing my disc in his defense. For a split nano he looked at me, clearly torn, then fled. Amid the flurry of flying discs and derezed guards that followed, I caught a glimpse of his escape.

'_Keep running, Flynn,_' I mentally urged him. '_Don't worry about me._' My survival mattered little, compared to his. I fight for the Users; I was more than willing to die for them too, especially *this* User.

But that moment of distraction was all Clu needed. He pinned me to the ground, disc poised for a derezzing stroke. I looked at his face; a face so like that of my User and dear friend. Yet his eyes… his eyes were sharp, hard, unforgiving, so unlike those of Flynn. They remind me a bit of Sark's. And behind them… behind them just a flicker of madness, of desperation, of hatred and growing rage.

Hence the irony, I think. I'm about to be drezzed by one who is so like and yet so unlike the one I tried to protect. "We'd have made a great team, Tron," he says quietly, obviously meant only for me to hear. I can't tell if the regret in his voice is real or false.

"No," I reply in the same quiet tone, but defiant, not regretful, and my defiance is very real. I proudly speak what will surely be my last words. "I fight for the Users. Not for you."

His response is not what I expect. A smirk spreads across his face. "We'll see." I don't even have a nano to think about what he meant. His disc comes down, and I know no more.


	2. Attempting to Reconnect

_TRON-JA307020... PROGRAM ERROR DETECTED… SCANNING NOW… _

I float in the peaceful unawareness of standby mode. Vague flickers of color, sound… nothing that makes sense… I quickly lose interest, falling back into darkness.

…_ERROR IDENTIFIED… 12% DAMAGE TO CODING… ATTEMPTING TO CORRECT…_

More vague snatches of light and sound… I wonder, as much as I can in my current state, if this is what it's like to have your data scattered… recycled into new programs and system constructs by the Users. Is this vague existence what follows de-resolution? No answer presents itself. I continue to drift.

…_PROGRAM PATCH DETECTED… ACCESSING… PATCH ACCESSED… CORRECTING ERROR… DAMAGE TO CODING 50% REPAIRED… 60%… 75%… 85% …91% …96% …PROGRAM STABILIZED… COMMENCING REBOOT…_

Something is happening…

…_REBOOTING… 33%…_

I'm no longer drifting. No… I was never really drifting. I'm lying on… something. Hard… flat… solid. I'm vaguely aware of discomfort.

…_REBOOTING… 66%…_

No, not discomfort. Pain. Definitely not derezed, then. But my shoulder feels as though it's trying to finish the job.

…_REBOOTING… 90%…_

I stifle a groan as I open my eyes a bit. My vision is still somewhat pixilated, but I turn my head and see my left shoulder covered with a thick program patch. Well, that explains the pain. I'll have to let Flynn check the damaged coding later...

…_REBOOTING…99% … REBOOT COMPLETE._

Wait… Flynn! My eyes fly open and I sit up suddenly, my injured shoulder loudly protesting the action. The pain is made a low priority, however, as memory comes back to me in a rush. Flynn… Clu… the ambush… Clu taking me down, about to derez me…

Wait, what happened to me? More importantly, what happened to Flynn? Did he escape successfully? Did he return to the User World?

I glance around; I'm in a small holding cell of some kind, sitting, previously lying, on the floor. I can't see it, but I know that a force field bars the door. No way to tell how long I've been offline.

I look at my injured shoulder again. Clu obviously didn't derez me, but he must have injured me enough to knock me out. Why have someone patch me up after he attacked me? It doesn't make sense…

I get slowly to my feet, taking a better look around my cell. Upon closer inspection, it's eerily reminiscent of the MCP's holding cells. I wonder if Clu designed it that way on purpose; he had access to some of Flynn's memories prior to his creation, so he might recall what they looked like.

Still, the aesthetics of the cell's design matter little at present; what matters is finding a way out of it. I need to find out what happened to Flynn, and if need be, come to his assistance. I know from experience, though, that that won't be easy. Both my own disc and the one I appropriated from Clu's guard are gone; not exactly surprising, considering the circumstances. At the very least, I'll need to get my own disc back before…

My transport beam of thought is interrupted by the sound of a door opening at the far end of the corridor outside my cell, followed by several sets of footsteps approaching my location. Soon, Clu walks into view, flanked by two guards, eventually stopping in front of my cell.

What little of the guards' faces that is not concealed by their helmets is expressionless, but Clu is smirking. I stare steadily back, my eyes narrowing slightly; I don't like the looks of that smirk. Unlike Flynn's, which is generally full of humor, Clu's smirk is cold and superior.

"Ah, Tron," he say, "good to see you back on your feet. The diagnostic program said you'd be coming around soon, so I thought I'd come check up on you."

I don't reply. I know very well that I was most likely being monitored, and that Clu would have been informed of my reactivation by those doing the monitoring, if he wasn't doing so himself. And despite his outward politeness, I know that his visit has nothing to do with concern for my well being.

Undeterred by my silence, Clu continues, his smirk broadening. "It seems your precious User has left you in a bit of a bind, old friend."

Now I speak. "I stayed behind willingly, to protect Flynn," I remind him. "And he's your User too."

The smirk vanishes from Clu's face, his mouth becoming a hard line and his eyes narrowing. "So I used to think," he says. "Before it became clear that he no longer cared about his creations."

"What do you mean?", I respond. "Of course Flynn cares. He's merely-"

"-Distracted?", Clu interrupts, his tone bitter, angry. "Yes, I know all about his 'distractions.' His 'real world' that keeps him away for cycles upon cycles, leaving us to fend for ourselves. And when he is here, all he can seem to think about are his precious ISOs." He spits the word 'ISOs' as if it's a vile insult. "Never mind the loyal programs created by his own hand, who've served him faithfully all this time."

I shake my head. I have to try to get through to Clu, before any more damage is done. I just hope that he's not beyond reason. "Clu, Flynn is a User. Of course he has many responsibilities that demand his attention. That doesn't mean that he no longer cares about us or the Grid. We programs have no right to make demands of our Users."

"Why?", Clu practically growls, his eyes narrowing further. "Why shouldn't we? They make enough demands of us. Why shouldn't we demand recognition for our work in their names?"

I sigh, attempting to sound as compassionate and reasonable as I imagine Flynn might in such a situation. "We were created to serve the Users, Clu. We owe them our very existence. They have power and understanding far beyond that of any program. They give us purpose, guidance-"

Clu once again interrupts, his glow flashing brightly with his anger. "Yes, and then when they tire of us they simply abandon us, toss us aside in favor of something newer and more interesting!"

"We may not fully understand their motivations," I reply carefully, "but Users _do_ _not_ abandon their programs."

Clu sneers at me. "Oh? I suppose you've spoken to your precious User Alan-1 recently, then? Has he contacted you at all, since you were brought to the Grid?"

I stiffen at that. "No…", I reluctantly admit. "But Flynn promised-"

Clu cuts me off. "Flynn made a lot of promises, Tron." The bitterness in his tone makes his opinion of the value of Flynn's promises perfectly clear. He sighs deeply and seems to gather himself after that, his face settling back into a more neutral expression, his glow dimming to a more relaxed level. "Enough. I didn't come down here to have a religious discussion with you."

"Then why did you come?", I ask him.

"I came to offer you one more chance to join me, Tron", he says. "I will create the perfect system. But not for Flynn, not for any User. For us, Tron; for programs. But I can't do it alone. I'm going to need allies. I'd like you to be one of them." He becomes more excited as he speaks, his enthusiasm becoming obvious. He almost seems like his old self for a moment. "If we work together, we won't need any Users. We can be our own Users! Tron, together we can change the world! Perfect it! Think about it: Tron and Clu, Masters of the Grid! And maybe even more, if we play our cards right. Can you picture it Tron?"

I'm silent for a long moment. I was wrong. He's not sounding like himself; he's sounding like Sark. How did it come to this? I lower my head, closing my eyes briefly, and I allow myself a moment to mourn the loss of a friend, for I can no longer call Clu that. Finally, I reply, "Yes, I can picture it." I raise my head, looking Clu in the eye, the hard expression on my face causing the smile that had been forming on his to vanish. "I can picture it because I've seen it before, Clu. In the old system, under the MCP. I've seen what happens when programs try to play User, and I refuse to help bring it about again. The Grid is _Flynn's_, Clu. He wrote it into being, just like he wrote you. Programs will _always _need Users. And I will _always_ fight for them."

Clu closes his eyes for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he speaks. "I thought you might say something like that, Tron," he says, folding his hands behind his back and opening his eyes. "But I had to try once more, for old time's sake." He turns partway to one side, as if about to leave. "Your faith is… admirable… but sadly misplaced. No matter, though; you'll see the truth soon enough. One way or another. Now then, if you'll excuse me," he begins to walk away, the two silent guards following him, "I've got something important to attend to."

They walk off down the corridor. I hear the door open, then close again, and silence descends, broken only by the barely audible hum of the force field. I sit down on the cell's bench, thinking about Clu's parting words. Somehow, I doubt they mean anything good… for me, or for anyone else.


	3. Problems to be Rectified

It's over a millicycle before Clu returns, this time with four guards. I find myself almost glad of the distraction; I'm designed for action, and the forced inactivity was starting to wear on me. Almost immediately, I notice that Clu's glow has changed color once again. It's now an unnerving yellow color; unnerving because the only programs I'd ever seen with that coloration were the virus Abraxas and those infected by it, though Clu is clearly not infected.

At the Basic/ISO Alliance Ceremony, the culmination of Flynn's efforts to negotiate a peaceful coexistence between the two groups, Clu had just been giving a speech announcing Radia, a prominent female ISO chosen by Flynn himself to be Co-systems Administrator alongside him. Things had looked to be going well up to that point; the only problem had been a young ISO named Quorra attempting to get access to the ceremony, claiming that she knew Radia well. When she was refused access, she'd run off, claiming that she'd find a way to get access. I'd sent Anon, Flynn's new system monitor program, after her, just to make certain she didn't cause a disturbance; the ceremony had been too important to be disrupted.

As it had turned out, however, the ceremony had been disrupted, though not by the young ISO. It was just when Radia had stepped up to speak that the virus, Abraxas attacked, infecting all he'd touched. Radia had been ushered to safety, but the virus had made as if to attack Clu. Anon had briefly engaged the virus, damaging its identity disk, allowing Clu to escape unharmed. Flynn and I had arrived shortly thereafter, the virus running off as we approached. Clu had approached us, telling Flynn and I what had happened.

Clu had told us that he believed the virus had evolved from ISOs, and that they were a danger to the Grid, which neither Flynn nor I had found particularly surprising. Flynn, however, had disagreed, saying that he trusted the ISOs and that he believed the virus to have another origin. I had suggested that Flynn return to the Real World for the time being, for his own safety. He had agreed, and, after sending Anon to pursue the virus, I had left with Flynn, escorting him to the portal.

We never made it there. Clu attacked us on the way to the portal, resulting in my current situation. I can only hope that Anon is alright; no doubt he'll be a target for Clu as well, now…

"Well, well, Tron," Clu says, bringing me back to the present. "How are you enjoying the accommodations, hmm? I designed them especially for you, you know."

I remain silent, glaring at Clu through the force field. He's once again wearing that unpleasant smirk; I wonder what has him so pleased. He continues, unfazed by my silence.

"You'll be pleased to hear that things are going well," he says. "So well, in fact, that I can take a little time off from directing things to come and see you."

"And what sort of 'things' are you directing?", I ask. Even though I'm all but certain that I won't like the answer, I need to get all the information I can.

"The first step to creating the perfect system, Tron," he replies, his smirk broadening. "The elimination of the ISOs."

"Elimination…?" No… Surely he can't mean…

"I thought that when I created Abraxas from that ISO, that Flynn would finally see their true nature; a disease that needs to be wiped from the grid." Clu frowns briefly. "I should have known better; even with their true form unleashed before his eyes, he still refuses to see." He sighs, shaking his head slightly. When he turns his attention back to me, his smirk has returned. "Thankfully, our fellow programs are not so blind. The threat of Abraxas has finally galvanized them against the ISOs. Attacks are underway on all major ISO communities; most have already fallen. Once we're done here, I'll be heading back out to Arjia City to personally oversee its destruction." His smirk broadens briefly. "After all, I want to bid my Co-Administrator farewell, face to face."

I can only stand there, shocked at what he just told me. Abraxas… a deliberate creation…? Hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of innocent programs derezed…? I can barely process it. I feel as though I'm stuck in a logic loop. It's impossible… unthinkable for what Clu is saying to be true… And yet… and yet…

"I know it seems excessive, Tron, but the ISOs are a threat that must be dealt with, before they corrupt the system any further," Clu says, sounding as if he's apologizing for accidentally spilling someone's drink, not committing mass murder.

The nonchalance of his statement snaps me out of my stunned state, shock slowly being replaced with anger. "Excessive…?", I say in a dangerously quiet tone, but my voice quickly rises to a shout. "Excessive? Clu… this is genocide! And attacking Arjia City… it's a peaceful religious community! The programs there are no threat to anyone!"

"The ISOs pose a threat by their very _existence_, Tron," he replies calmly. "And as for the Arjians, their devotion to our so-called Creator and his teachings would have no place in my perfect system."

"And what about the Basics living in Arjia and other ISO friendly cities?", I ask, my glow flashing brightly with righteous rage. "Will they be _murdered_ along with the ISOs for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"Any Basics who surrender and renounce their allegiance to Flynn will be spared," Clu says, nodding. "But if they refuse, they'll be considered prisoners of war. The fewer allies Flynn has, the less trouble he can make for me and the easier things will be for everyone."

"'Prisoners of war'?", I reply, incredulous. "Clu, you were created to guide and protect the system, not tear it apart!"

"I am protecting it!", he shouts, his patience with the discussion clearly wearing thin. "I'm protecting it from itself! The system is in chaos, Tron; it needs order. It needs stability. It needs control. I can give it those things. I can make it perfect. But _only_ if I'm free to act; free to do what is necessary."

"And mass-murder is 'necessary' for your 'perfect system'?", I growl at him.

"Perfection doesn't come without a price, Tron," Clu says matter-of-factly. "Sacrifices must be made for the greater good of the system. Problems must be dealt with swiftly and decisively, either eliminated or rectified."

As Clu speaks, I try to force myself to calm down, to think. Blind rage won't help anyone and will likely only get me derezed. At least I know one thing now; Flynn is alive. That's my one pixel of comfort in the face of Clu's madness. So long as Flynn is alive, there is a chance that things can still be salvaged. So long as he lives, all is not lost. So long as he lives… I haven't failed completely.

"And speaking of problems to be rectified…" Clu gestures to his guards and two of them step forward, opening the force field that bars the front of my cell.

I briefly consider making a run for it, but the guards brandish their shock-staffs, dissuading me from such an action. Outnumbered, unarmed, and still injured, it would be a foolish move. There will be other opportunities. I step out of the cell, calm, but wary. The two guards take hold of my arms, guiding me roughly down the corridor, Clu and his two guards following right behind.

It doesn't take long to reach our destination. A set of double doors at the opposite end of the hallway open, revealing a fairly small room, though it's not until I enter that I get a good view of the interior. The room is windowless, and without any form of furniture aside from some monitoring equipment. A disc reader is set into the wall opposite the door, and on the left-hand wall is what looks to be a modified standby pod. Two other programs, one male, one female, are already waiting there, both of their glows pale blue-white, in sharp contrast to Clu's yellow and the guards' orange.

The doors close as Clu enters behind me, his two guards remaining just outside. "Has the device been set to my specifications?", Clu asks.

The male program nods, looking up from the equipment the two of them were working on. "Nearly, sir. We're just fine-tuning a few things now."

"Good," Clu replies, gesturing to the guards holding me. They pull me back and force me into the standby pod, which, oddly, does not close. However, restraints emerge from the back of the pod, locking my wrists and ankles into place. Not a reassuring sign.

The guards step away, moving to stand on either side of the door, and Clu again addresses me, while the blue clad programs continue their work. "Did you know, Tron, that I wasn't the first program Flynn wrote to have the name 'Clu'?"

I don't reply. Flynn had mentioned that program to me, not long before bringing me to the Grid from the old system. Despite having spent some time looking for him, neither I nor Flynn had ever been able to find any trace of him, and thus were forced to conclude that the unfortunate hacking program had been derezed, most likely by the MCP or its minions.

As usual, Clu pays no heed to my lack of response, and continues. "He was a hacking program, Flynn told me. One of his best. Though not good enough to avoid being derezed, apparently. Still, I thought maybe it was time that I followed in my namesake's footsteps and try my own hand at hacking."

Clu smirks, pulling a disc out from under his coat. He holds it up to scan it and a small, rotating hologram of a program's head appears: mine. My disc! My eyes widen in surprise, which seems to please Clu.

"You seem surprised, old friend," he says, a false smile on his face. "I've been keeping an eye on this for you, along with the one you took from my guard." He pauses, a note of genuine respect entering his voice when next he speaks, examining the images the disc shows him. "That was impressive, by the way; not many programs can take control of another's disc, make it answer to them. Still, I shouldn't be surprised. You always were something special, a cut above the average program. Strong, clever, skilled, experienced, a natural leader, and all but unbeatable, in the games or in combat." He pauses again, shifting my disc in his hand so that the images vanish, then turning his gaze back to me. "That's why I need you on my side."

"You already know my answer to that, Clu," I reply defiantly.

Clu's smile morphs back into that cold smirk. "You say that as if I'm giving you a choice in the matter," he says.

"Everything's ready now, sir," the male blue clad program interjects. "We can begin whenever you like."

"Good," Clu says, handing my disc over to the male program. "Let's get this show on the road." The male program nods, taking my disc and fitting it into the disc reader on the wall.

Meanwhile, Clu turns his attention back to me. "I gave you the chance to join me willingly," he says, "but you still refuse to see the truth. As it stands, you're a problem, old friend, and as I said before, problems need to be rectified. You're still obviously flawed; imperfect. No matter. You will be perfect, Tron; I'll make you perfect." His smirk broadens. "A perfect champion for my perfect system."

It begins to dawn on me what Clu has in mind for me: reprogramming. No, perhaps not true reprogramming, as that ability is, so far as I know, reserved for Users alone. Even the MCP had been unable to alter a program's base coding; those who'd served it had done so willingly, for all they had been kept loyal primarily by fear. Adding new coding, however, is quite possible, and is indeed fairly common on small levels, in the form of modifications. Though I doubt that it's any simple upgrade that is on Clu's agenda.

The blue clad woman approaches me, checking to make certain that my restraints are secure. She seems unwilling to meet my gaze, her eyes only on her task, but I have to try and get her attention. She and the other blue clad program may or may not be willing collaborators with Clu, but they're the closest thing to allies I've seen since I came back online here. And if they are willing to assist me, I may just be able to get out of here. "Let me go," I whisper, just loud enough for her to hear. "There's still a chance to stop this madness before it goes any further, but I need to get out of here. I need to get to Flynn. But for that I need my disc." She pauses in her task, seemingly uncertain. "Please," I whisper urgently. "All I need from you is my disc." My disc. The disc that derezed Sark. The disc that vanquished the MCP. The disc empowered by both Alan-1 and Flynn. If I can just get it back, I know that somehow, _somehow_…

She finally raises her eyes to me, gazing at me with a mix of weariness and pity. "Flynn…", she whispers, "can no longer help us. Clu is our only hope now." She pauses, seemingly considering something, then hastily adds. "When it begins, don't fight it; it will only be worse if you do. And… for what it's worth… I'm sorry." With that, she hastily turns away, giving Clu the briefest of nods to indicate that the restraints are indeed secure before turning back to her console.

I turn my eyes back to Clu's smirking face, glaring. "What have you been telling them, Clu?", I demand.

"Just the truth, Tron," he replies, then pauses, seeming to consider something. "No, I guess you can't be Tron anymore, can you? Tron is imperfect. You'll need a new name to suit your new function. Let's see… from now on, you'll be…" He taps his chin a bit, as if thinking, then smirks again. "From now on, old friend, you are… Rinzler."

"My _name_ is _Tron_, Clu," I reply emphatically, but he ignores me, gesturing to the two blue-clad programs standing at the control panel even as I speak. The male program touches a few controls and the pod finally closes around me, locking me in from the chest down.

I'm about to say more, to further deny Clu, but at that moment, the device around me comes to life, crackling with energy, and I barely manage to bite back a cry of pain. And along with the physical pain of the energy now playing over my body, there comes the feeling of alien algorithms being forced onto me, as if something were trying to claw its way into my very code. Despite the blue woman's earlier advice, I resist; how can I not? The pain builds, whatever force is attempting to pry its way into my code increasing its efforts. Still, I continue to fight. I must! The Users need me! Flynn needs me! I can't let Clu win! I finally lose the battle to hold back a scream as the crackling energy and alien code rip through me one last time.

Then suddenly, it all stops. I slump in my restraints, panting for breath, my vision fading in and out of focus. All my senses seem muted, muffled, except for the residual pain left by the crackling energy, and the heavy, ill-fitting feeling of the unfamiliar coding that's been forced onto me.

As if from far away, I hear a female voice. "Any more now, sir, and we risk damaging his base coding. We need…", the voice briefly fades out, becomes indistinct, then, "…to let the first batch of new coding take hold."

I can feel myself slipping unwillingly into standby mode again. A cold, male voice, muffled and distant, speaks, and I struggle to make out what it's saying. "... Rinzler back to his cell for now then. We… -tinue this later."

I'm vaguely aware of the restraints releasing, of strong hands taking hold of my arms, compelling me to move forward. Even as I slip into darkness again, I cling to one thought. '_I am Tron, not Rinzler. And I fight for the Users._'

Author's Note: Appologies for any details from TRON:Evolution that I may have gotten wrong; I've never played the game (and likely never will, since I'm not very good at that type of game) and was going by the info/plot summary on the TRON wiki when I wrote this. Comments/reviews/critiques are always appreciated. Flames, however will be used to help heat my house. X3 Next chapter is already in progress, so it shouldn't be too long til the update. :)

Routine Disclaimer: Don't own TRON or any recognizable characters. It's Disney's universe; I'm just playing in it.


	4. A Moment to Recuperate

Disclaimer: TRON is Disney's, not mine. Unfortunately. ;-p

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_I'm standing on a ridge in the Outlands with Flynn, our light-cycles nearby, looking back toward Tron City. Strange to think that an entire swiftly expanding city bears my name. I'm only a security program, after all; a very good security program, true, and the Grid's primary security program, but still, just a normal program performing his function. I mentioned this to Flynn when he first told me what the city was to be named; he'd simply laughed, telling me that I was being too modest. In the end I'd decided if having the first and largest city on the Grid be named after me made Flynn happy, as it clearly did, then it was nothing to worry too much over. I like it when Flynn is happy; he always seems to be the most… like himself, then. _

_Like now. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling broadly, his stance relaxed. He is completely at ease. I realize that it is partly my presence that allows him to be so, and that makes me happy as well. He trusts me completely, without reservation; trusts me to protect him from any danger that might arise. And that trust is a far greater honor than the name of a city could ever be._

"_I tell ya, Tron," he says after a long moment of companionable silence, "this is it."_

"_What's 'it'?", I ask._

"_This is," he says, gesturing broadly to the Grid laid out before us. "The Grid. The ideal system. I used to dream about this, and now… here it is." He laughs. "Every time I look at it, I just wanna pinch myself, just to make sure that it's really happening, and I'm not actually passed out at my desk or something."_

_While I have no idea what pinching has to do with anything, I nod in agreement with Flynn, smiling a bit. "Yes. You've created a wonderful system."_

_He glances over at me, smirking slightly. "Now, what have I told you about selling yourself short, eh buddy? None of this could've happened without you and Clu's help." He turned back toward the city, becoming a bit more thoughtful. "I owe you guys a lot."_

_I glance over at Flynn, quietly in awe of him, as I often am. He has written a world into existence from nothing, filled it with life, freedom, and purpose, and he acts as if it were something ordinary. Or rather, he acts as if he were ordinary for doing so. As if he were just another program in the system, performing his function. He makes nothing of the fact that he is a User, that every program in this system owes their very existence to him in one way or another. I myself owe my life to him several times over. And yet, he claims to owe a lot to _us_; he has never treated me, Clu, or any other program he knows as anything but friends and equals. It is… astonishing. In his humbleness, he shows his greatness, and reaffirms to me why I fight for the Users. Why I fight for him._

_Flynn grins. "I can't wait to be able to show this place to the world," he says. "As soon as it's ready, I'll bring all kinds of people down here, show them this world."_

"_More Users?", I ask, curious._

_Flynn nods. "Yep. Scientists, doctors, artists, musicians, dreamers…" Once again, he gestures broadly. "It'll change the world, man. It'll change both our worlds."_

_I nod, smiling slightly. Flynn has mentioned his grand plans to me before, and while their scope is somewhat beyond me, I can't help but share Flynn's excitement, his confidence. One thing I do understand, however, is that when Flynn's plan comes to fruition it will mean a closer, more intimate relationship between programs and their Users than ever before; more programs will have the chance to experience the sense of deep purpose and fulfillment that I feel with Flynn. _

"_But before that," Flynn continues, smile broadening, "before that, there's a few people I wanna show it first. Sam, Jordan, Lora, Alan… They've stood by me so long, I think they deserve a little sneak peek."_

"_Alan-1?", I ask, wondering if I'd heard correctly, hoping I had._

"_Yeah, sure," Flynn says, smirking slightly. "Tell you the truth, I think Alan's already got his suspicions as to where I'm going during my mysterious absences. He always was hard to put one over on. Still, I want this to be a surprise, even to him." Flynn's smirk broadens, and he chuckles. "Man, he'll flip when he sees this place."_

"_Alan-1...", I say softly, turning my gaze back to the distant city, but without really seeing it. Instead, my mind drifts back in time to before I came to the Grid, recalling the gentle yet persistent tugging at my code that was Alan-1 calling me to the I/O tower. I remember the many times I had entered the Communications Chamber, felt the near physical force of the Communication Beam wash over me, its power at once exhilarating and humbling. Then would come the voice of Alan-1, so like my own, and yet so different, full of wisdom and power that I could never hope to match, promising guidance, direction, and renewed purpose._

_Something must have shown in my expression, or perhaps it was some bit of insight that came with his User nature. "You miss him, don't you?" Startled out of my reverie, I turn to Flynn to see him looking at me, smiling gently. _

_I look down and away. He is right, of course; I have missed Alan-1 greatly since I had been brought to the Grid, more so when I have time to really think about it. I haven't spoken about it to Flynn, as I do not wish him to think that this reflects badly on him as my new User. Yet, another part of my code rebels against knowingly deceiving my User, causing a minor programming conflict that makes it difficult for me to speak._

_Finally, I nod slowly, embarrassed that Flynn had to find out in such a manner. "Yes," I admit. I then hastily add, "This doesn't mean that you haven't been an excellent User to me, to the Grid, because you have, but…" I trail off uncomfortably, unable to think of a way to continue that won't sound like I'm unfavorably comparing Flynn to Alan-1._

"…_But I'm not Alan," Flynn finishes. I give a slight nod, somewhat ashamed. Flynn, however, still wears that same gentle smile. "Tron, buddy, it's alright." He lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Alan… well, he's kinda like your father, in a way. It's only natural that you'd miss him." This comforts me somewhat, but I remain silent. Flynn seems to think for a moment, then nods to himself before continuing. "Tell you what, as soon as the Grid is ready, Alan'll be the first one I bring down here."_

_I look up at Flynn, surprised. "Really?", I ask, unable to suppress my excitement at the thought of actually _meeting _Alan-1 face to face._

_Flynn chuckles. "Yeah, sure," he says with a nod. "I promise. I'm sure Alan would love to meet you."_

_That notion brings a grin not unlike Flynn's to my face. Alan-1, here, in person! And Flynn, who would certainly know, said that he would love to meet me! I find myself beginning to anticipate it already, until a thought occurs to me that somewhat dampens my buoyant mood. "But what about Sam?", I ask, unwilling to deny Flynn's son the right to come to the Grid to satisfy my own desires._

_Flynn shakes his head slightly. "Sam's got a lot of growing yet to do before he's ready to come down here," he replies with a chuckle. "Besides, like I said earlier, I owe you. And I owe Alan too. You both deserve the chance to really know each other, you know?"_

_I nod at him, smiling. "I look forward to meeting them both, when the time is right," I tell him. That is the understatement of the cycle, of course. Though the time is undoubtedly still far in the future, I find myself already unconsciously ticking off the nanoseconds until I meet him, and Sam as well, enthusiasm boosting me like a draught of refined energy._

_Flynn laughs, apparently catching my underlying eagerness. "I can tell," he says, smirking. He then gives me a friendly slap on the back, gesturing to his light-cycle. "Anyway, we'd better be getting back; I've got some things I need to talk about with Clu before I head home."_

_I nod, and we both mount our cycles, turning around and heading back down the ridge toward the city…_

** 00000000000000000000000000000**

Slowly I open my eyes, wondering for a moment where I am and how I got here. Why am I lying on the floor? Wasn't I just riding my light cycle? And why do I feel so strange, so drained?

The situation soon reasserts itself, however, and I slowly sit up, examining myself both visually and with my internal diagnostics. I seem to be uninjured, aside from my shoulder, of course, and even that is nearly healed. A small comfort.

The unfamiliar coding is still there, though. My diagnostic scans return no information that makes sense; the code is too incomplete to determine its purpose. However, I can hazard a guess, given what Clu had mentioned; most likely Clu is attempting to take his repurposing abilities beyond what they were ever meant to be, to do more than simply deactivate old functions and privileges and add new ones.

Repurposing… an ability given to Clu by Flynn in order to make certain that no program on the Grid would ever be without a function, that they would always have a reason to be. That alone should be evidence enough that Flynn cares for us. He knows how much having a useful function means to a program; he had seen programs lost and bereft of their function under the MCP's rule, and wished to make certain that none of his programs would ever suffer such a fate.

Yet Clu is willing to twist even this sacred trust for his own ends, it seems. I sigh, trying to ignore the feeling of the new coding that has been clumsily integrated into me. Flynn had upgraded me on several occasions, adding new functions to my code as needed as the Grid expanded. Though the upgrades had always taken a bit of getting used to, they had always felt… right. They had always integrated smoothly and seamlessly with the rest of my coding. Every algorithm had reflected Flynn's skill and care; the upgrading process always easy and painless.

Not so with this coding. None of Flynn's gentle, skilled hand shows in this code. It is, to use a phrase that Flynn sometimes did to describe such coding, 'quick and dirty'; no subtlety at all, no consideration for the program in question, just getting the job done. Yet another way Clu differs from Flynn.

Sighing, I get up from the floor and move to sit on the cell's bench, pondering the dream I had had. Flynn had told me once that Users also dream, but their dreams, from what he had described, tend to be rather bizarre and abstract. The dreams of programs are much more straight-forward; fragments of memory recalled at random while in standby mode. While sometimes jumbled, or in a strange order, they were always merely memory fragments, nothing more. If a program were to dream like a User, it would mean that they were badly glitched, or had some sort of base-coding error.

It had been a dream of a happier time; a time when anything had seemed possible. Perhaps my earlier mention to Clu of Flynn's promise had brought it to mind. Or perhaps it had been Clu's insinuations about Alan-1 directly preceding it.

I scowl, thinking about it; how that had stung in a different, more personal way than Clu's insults to Flynn. His anger and bitterness towards Flynn is at least, to some degree, understandable. But to express the same sort of hatred towards Alan-1, a User he'd had no contact with whatsoever, who had never done him any wrong, real or perceived… the User who'd written me… it is wrong. And there is something about it that is deeply disturbing, for reasons I can't quite put my finger on, especially in light of the atrocities I now know he's committed. Just how far _is_ he willing to go in his quest for perfection?

I am distracted from my thoughts by the sound of a door opening, and footsteps approaching my cell. But only one set of footsteps, this time, and too light to belong Clu or one of his guards. I soon find out the source, as the blue-clad woman from before stops in front of my cell. She seems surprised to find me reactivated, he eyes widening slightly for a moment. I return her gaze, calmly, but she quickly looks away, seemingly uncomfortable.

We're both silent for a long moment. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, unsure. "I… I brought your energy ration…", she says, pulling a small vial of concentrated energy from her pocket and holding it out so that I can see it. There is also a deflector cuff on her wrist, I notice, presumably so that she'd be able to give it to me without opening the force field.

I nod in acknowledgement and stand up, moving to the front of the cell to take it. The energy will certainly be welcome. However, this simple act seems to alarm her for some reason, and she draws her hand back suddenly. Though confused, I step back until I'm again standing by the cell's bench, gesturing from there for her to go ahead.

After hesitating a moment, the activates the cuff and crouches down just outside the force field, watching me warily the whole time. Then, as if trying to do it before she loses her nerve, she slips her cuffed hand through a corner of the force field and drops the vial onto the cell floor before hastily pulling her hand back and getting to her feet.

After a moment, I step forward again and bend down to take it. I pick up the vial and nod to her. "Thank you." I then return to the bench and sit down, opening the vial and, after scanning it as best I can for any contaminants and having it come up clear, drinking the contents. The energy flows into me, warming and revitalizing; not exactly a huge boost, but it definitely helps. And I have a feeling that I'm going to need it.

I glance back at the front of my cell to find the blue-clad woman still standing there, watching me, a puzzled look on her face. When she notices that I've become aware of her scrutiny, she hastily looks away, then slowly turns her gaze back to me, though not quite meeting my eyes.

"Yes?", I ask her. "What is it?"

She hesitates for a moment, then finally asks quietly, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?", I reply, uncertain what she is referring to.

"Why did you resist?", she clarifies. "Why did you fight the machine, even though I warned you what would happen if you did?"

I look at her steadily for a long moment before replying, considering how to word it. I finally decide that the simplest explanation is most likely the best, and answer truthfully, "Because I had to."

She finally looks me in the eye for a moment, as if trying to determine the truth of what I just said. Then finally, she lowers her eyes. "I don't think I could ever do something like that…", she says, even more quietly than before, seemingly more to herself than to me.

I answer anyway. "It's not a matter of 'can' and 'can't'," I tell her. "Some things, you just do." I pause briefly, the corners of my lips twitching into the faintest of smiles, despite the situation, as I recall when I first heard the words I next speak. "…No matter how crazy it seems."

For a long moment, she doesn't reply, merely standing there looking thoughtful. She then looks away from me again, closing her eyes. "I… have to go," she says hastily, then hurries off down the hall, towards the little room, before either of us has the chance to speak another word.


	5. Hit Esc to Exit

Author's Note: Woo! Another chapter. :) It's not quite as long as the previous two, but I think it does its job. Anyway, thanks to everyone who's read and/or reviewed! :) You all get cookies! :D *hands out cookies of choice* Enjoy your cookies and (hopefully) the upcoming chapter! :3

Disclaimer: I'm not Disney, therefore, TRON is not mine.

* * *

It isn't long before I hear the door opening again, followed by the now familiar sound of the approach of several sets of heavy, booted feet. Still sitting on the cell's bench, I don't bother to look up as they stop outside my cell.

"Hello, Rinzler," I hear Clu say. I don't need to look up to know that he is smirking as he says it.

I don't reply, acting as if I hadn't heard. However, a moment later, a strange, flickering vibration of sound fills the air, and it's my turn to smirk slightly. To me, it had always sounded like a pitched-down version of a light cycle's engine noise. Flynn, however, had always compared it to the 'purring' of a cat, a type of creature that lived in his world that many Users kept as companions. Whatever one called it, it had always amused Flynn greatly, and annoyed Clu with its inexplicability.

The ability to make this odd sound had come along with one of the earlier upgrades Flynn had given me. The first time I'd done it, he'd burst out laughing, while I had merely been confused. It was then that he'd explained to me about 'cats' and why it amused him so much to hear it coming from a 'big, tough security program' like me. He'd sworn that it hadn't been an intentional addition, though, and double-checked my coding just to make certain that it wasn't an indication of some sort of malfunction. He had found nothing amiss, declaring it to be just being a harmless programming quirk, and since it was harmless, he hadn't wanted to risk meddling with my code to try and discover what precisely caused the odd sound.

I had accepted his decision, though I had generally chosen to refrain from making the odd sound in public; only Flynn, Clu, and a few others even knew about it. Until now, I hadn't felt petty enough to do it simply to irritate Clu.

I can easily picture the annoyed look on Clu's face as he speaks again. "There's another thing I'm going to have to work on…", he says.

I finally glace up to see Clu standing outside my cell, once again accompanied by four of his silent guards. I had pictured his expression almost perfectly. "Flynn always found it amusing," I comment with false nonchalance.

Clu's eyes narrow further. "It's pointless," he grouses. "Pointless, inconsistent, inexplicable, and imperfect. It serves no useful function. Like the ISOs he loves so much." He smirks at that. "Fortunately, neither problem will be an issue much longer. As we speak, my Black Guards are searching out the last few ISOs that escaped the Purge; they won't be able to hide for long. Soon Flynn's so-called 'miracle' will be nothing but an unpleasant memory."

I glare sharply at Clu, which only makes his smirk broaden. "And as for your problem," he says, "well, it's time to work on that a bit more as well." He gestures to one of his guards, and the guard lowers the force field at the front of my cell.

I don't move from the bench, simply continuing to glare at him. He sighs theatrically. "Always making things difficult, aren't you, Rinzler?" He gestures to the guard who opened the cell and the guard enters, obviously prepared to drag me out.

However, a plan had been forming in my mind since my talk with the blue-clad woman. My shoulder has healed enough that it is no longer an issue, the patch doing its work well. And I remember approximately where on Clu's person he has my disc hidden. Now is the time to make my escape attempt.

I get to my feet as the guard approaches, pretending compliance. He falls in behind me, silent as ever. I rub the shoulder that still bears the fading program patch as I move to the front of my cell, as if it still pains me. As the guard and I step out of the cell, a second guard moves forward to take his place on my opposite side. I allow him to do so, sighing slightly as if resigned to my fate, and they once again begin guiding me down the corridor, towards the little room.

As I had predicted, however, my lack of any struggle aside from token resistance, and my seemingly quick surrender from that have caused them to lower their guard; they do not take hold of my arms this time, believing that I intend to come quietly. After a few moments, I feign a stumble, the guards instinctively turning slightly to grab me, and it's then that I make my move.

I whirl suddenly, grabbing hold of the baton portion of the staff held by the guard on my right and giving it a good, hard yank. The surprised guard staggers back with a yelp, the first sound I've heard any of them make since reactivating here. In the same motion, I whip the butt of the staff around, knocking the guard on my left off-balance. A grunt of pain from the guard and the feel of the impact through the staff lets me know I've connected, and I turn with practiced ease, whipping the staff's energized tip up and around to slice a long gash across the guard's chest. He cries out in pain before dropping to the floor in a scattering of fragmented code, unconscious. One down, possibly derezed.

But I don't have time to spare him any attention; Clu and the other guards have recovered from their surprise. The guard whose staff I grabbed lunges at me in an attempt to retrieve his weapon. I allow him to get a partial grip on it before executing a quick half turn, using the added momentum to simultaneously pull the staff from his unprepared grip and bring the energized tip slicing down across his shoulder. He cries out in pain, code fragments crumbling from his injury. He barely has time to raise a hand to the injury before I step back and whip the butt of the staff around hard, knocking the injured guard back into the two who'd been coming at me behind him. A leap forward, a twirl of the staff, and all three guards stagger back into Clu in the confined space of the corridor, the one with the injured shoulder losing his arm entirely as the staff strikes the damaged code. He collapses, unconscious, as his limb crumbles to code fragments. Two down.

Clu, who'd been readying his own disc for a cast, is knocked off balance by the stumbling guards. I whip the staff in a wide arc, catching both guards in the side of the helmet, and they go down in a heap, reeling, both losing hold of their staffs in the process. Clu, meanwhile, has recovered, and with the way now unobstructed, strikes out angrily with the disc in his hand to slice into me at close range. I manage to sidestep the stroke, but only just, the disc coming so close that I can feel the breeze of its passing. Too close. Clu never could match my skill and finesse in disc combat, but at this range such fine control matters little; Clu's strength and User-like resistance to damage give him the advantage in this situation.

However, there is a chance; Clu is resistant to damage, but not necessarily to _pain_, and while the staff is not my weapon of choice, I do know how to use it. A twist of the baton portion as I duck a second swipe- again, too close- and the tip rezzes brighter, humming with dangerous power. From my crouched position, I thrust the staff's energized tip upward and into Clu's stomach. A powerful shock leaps from the staff tip and courses through Clu's body; as I had hoped, he cries out in pain, staggering back a pace, clutching his midsection with his free arm.

I waste no time, leaping at Clu from my crouch and tackling him to the floor. He loses hold of his disc, his grip apparently momentarily slackened by the shock, and the disc falls to the floor, rolling a short distance away. Clu's disc, however, doesn't concern me at the moment. I remember from our previous encounter where Clu has been keeping my disc, and I slip my free hand under his coat, searching for it, as Clu begins to recover. At last, my fingers close around the familiar shape of my disc once more, something deep within my core programming leaping with a mix of hope and triumph at the contact.

But only for a moment, as intense pain suddenly rips through my body, momentarily consuming all other sensations. I cry out in shock, and Clu takes the opportunity to throw me off of himself, rolling me to one side. As Clu gets to his feet again, I see what caused the shock of pain; one of the two guards that I had knocked into one another has managed to regain both his feet and his weapon, the tip of which now hums with energy, just like the one still held loosely in my grasp. I had managed to keep a hold of my disc as well as Clu had shoved me away, but the guard jabs me again, sending another bolt of agony through me before I can even recover my senses properly, let alone attempt to defend myself.

Fighting through the residual pain, I feel both the staff an my disc being pulled from my hands. I attempt to resist, but my systems are still too scrambled to respond properly; both weapons are easily pulled from my weakened grip. The taking of my disc for a second time is akin to a physical blow. So close… I had been _so close_…

I hear slow, mocking applause just above me; when I manage to open my eyes, I'm unsurprised to find that it's coming from Clu. He stands over me, my disc held carefully in his curled fingers as he smirks down at me, sarcastically clapping. "Bravo, Rinzler, bravo," he says. "Wonderful performance; very clever. You actually had me fooled. Not an easy thing to do." He pauses to slip my disc back under his coat, the smirk never leaving his face. "Just what I need from my champion."

I glare up at Clu, and at the guard still covering me with his staff, its tip shining menacingly. "My _name_ is _Tron_," I spit at him, my voice hoarse with residual pain. "And I'm _not_ you champion, Clu. I fight for the _Users_."

Clu sighs, shaking his head in mock-dismay. "Like I said, _Rinzler_… always making things difficult…"

Turning to the guard pointing his staff at me, Clu orders him, "Take Rinzler down to the rectification room. And you," he turns to the other intact guard, who is only now getting to his feet, "get some programs down here to take care of this." Clu gestures around at the damage caused by my escape attempt.

Both guards nod and the first one hauls me to my feet, brandishing his staff menacingly. "Now then," Clu says, turning his still smirking face back to me, "where were we?"


	6. Perspectives

Author's Note: Thanks to everybody who's been reading and enjoying this fic. You're all awesome! :D This chapter starts to change things up a little, as you'll see. Exactly how does it change things up? Well, you'll just have to read and find out. ;-)

Next chapter will also be a bit different. But you can take comfort in the fact that since I already have the next chapter pretty well mentally plotted out, you shouldn't have to wait too long to find out how it's different. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter! :)

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I wouldn't be working retail. Draw your own conclusions from that.

* * *

The guard drags me roughly down the hall towards the 'rectification' room, Clu following behind. It doesn't take long, but I stumble several times before we get there. There's nothing feigned about them this time, though, as my systems try to recover from the painful scrambling inflicted on them by the guard's shock staff, which even now is held at the ready to administer another such jolt, should I attempt to resist. Each time I stumble, the guard hauls me back to my feet and drags me on.

When we arrive, we're met by the same pair of programs, male and female, as before, concerned looks on their faces. The guard ignores them however, dragging me over to the pod on the wall and once again forcing me into it, the restraints snapping into place. The guard then steps back, moving to stand by the door, and I turn my attention back to Clu and the other programs.

"Sir, what happened?", the male program asks. "We heard fighting…"

"Rinzler attempted to escape," Clu replies. "He attacked me, and nearly derezed two of the guards. Fortunately, we were able to bring him back under control."

The female program looks especially dismayed when the two injured guards are mentioned, seeming to be about to inquire about them further. Clu, however, cuts her off. "They're already being taken care of," Clu tells her. He attempts a reassuring smile, but it comes off as looking rather false. "All you two need to worry about is Rinzler here."

The male program nods, seemingly satisfied, and Clu hands him my disc. The female program seems more hesitant, but also nods slowly. While the male program fits my disc into the reader, the female once again comes over to check my restraints. Once again, she keeps her head down, focusing only on her task.

"You don't like doing this, do you?", I whisper to her, a note of sympathy in my tired, still somewhat pained, voice. She seems like a decent enough program, but she also seems… afraid, both in general and, for some reason, of me. I wonder if that fear is what is driving her to do this, and what sort of lies Clu might have told her to feed it.

She pauses. For a moment, I think she won't answer, but finally, she whispers back, barely audible even to me, "It's the only way… I'm… I'm sorry. But… there's no other way…" She trails off, going back to her task.

Before I can ask her to elaborate, she hurriedly finishes her check and walks back to the middle of the room, giving a small nod to Clu and the other blue program. I sigh slightly, slumping a bit against the back of the pod. My systems are working overtime, trying to return me to full operating capacity, but I know it won't be enough. Not enough to fight off the effects of this machine for long. Grimly, I close my eyes, waiting for the pod to close, the pain to begin…

…Only to open them as a soft voice speaks. "Clu, Sir…?", the female program asks tentatively. She stands about halfway between her previous position and the machine's controls. Clu turns to look at her when she speaks. She glances down at the floor, either unwilling or unable to meet his eye, but continues. "Sir… perhaps we should allow… Rinzler… some time to recover, before we do this?" She shuffles her feet, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as if she were regretting her decision to speak. Still, she continues. "The readings indicate he was hit by a shock staff, possibly more than once… it must have happened in the fight. The process is very… rigorous. I… We don't want to risk damaging his coding, Sir…"

I can't help but feel gratitude to the blue-clad woman, even though I doubt that her attempt to speak for me will succeed. My doubts are, unfortunately, confirmed almost immediately.

Clu gives her a thin not-quite-smile, giving the impression that he finds her request amusingly naïve. "You dedication to your duty is admirable, program," he says, politely impersonal, "but this can't wait. If Rinzler has a rougher time of it this time around, it's because he brought it on himself when he attempted his escape. Your concerns are duly noted, but Rinzler is a tough program; he'll survive." He turns back to face me.

She clearly didn't miss the note of dismissal in Clu's last sentence; the conversation is over. She nods meekly, returning to her station without another word. The blue-clad man speaks quietly to her for a moment as the two of them work the controls, but I can't catch what he's saying. Whatever it is, she sighs softly and nods to him in response.

The blue-clad man then turns and speaks to Clu. "We're ready to begin, Sir."

Clu nods. "Good," he says. "Proceed."

The blue-clad man nods as well, turning back to the machine's controls. The pod closes around me, and I brace myself for the pain, steeling my code against the invasive algorithms that the machine will try to force into me. '_I am Tron,_' I think to myself, focusing in on the central truths that make up the very core of my being. '_I fight for the Users. My creator is Alan-1. My User is Flynn. My counterpart is Yori. I am-_'

Pain rips through me as the machine activates. Alien algorithms attempt to claw their way into my coding, using the already implanted coding as a foothold. No! Focus, focus! '_…Tron. I am…Tron. I fight…_'

The machine increases its efforts as I increase my resistance, crackling energy ripping through my beleaguered systems, intrusive coding trying to tear its way into my own. I barely notice as cry out in pain, my focus all on the internal battle. I must fight this! I must! '_…for the… Users! My…creator… Alan-1! My User…_'

_TRON-JA307020... PROGRAM ERROR. PROGRAM ERROR. POWER OVERLOAD. ATTEMPTING TO COMPENSATE…_

'_My… User… Flynn! My… counterpart…'_

…_UNABLE TO COMPENSATE. EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN IMMINENT._

'…_Yori…_'

_EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN COMMENC-_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The accessory diagnostic program had been helping her primary, Dakin, prepare the device for Clu and Tron's- no, Rinzler's, had to remember to call him Rinzler- arrival when she'd heard it. Shouts of anger, cries of pain, and other sounds of fighting in the corridor. Both she and her primary had paused in their work, alarmed, uncertain of what was happening. Neither of them were fighters; she doubted she'd even know how to hold her disc properly for throwing. If whatever was happening spilled into the room where they were, there would be nowhere for them to hide, and little hope of escaping uninjured.

Then, as abruptly as they had begun, the noises of combat ceased, and an uneasy silence settled on the room, broken only by the quiet hum and occasional beep from the machinery. She and her primary waited nervously, wondering what would happen next, uncertain if they should go and investigate. They didn't have to wait long.

A few moments later, an angry-looking guard, his staff set to shock by the looks of it, dragged in a stumbling and much the worse for wear looking Rinzler. Following behind them, wearing the slight smirk that seemed to be his default facial expression, came Clu. She hung back slightly, as she generally did when Clu was present, watching with concern as the guard shoved Rinzler roughly into the pod, the restraints engaging automatically.

'_Wait, just one guard?', _she realized, as said guard moved to stand by the door._ 'There were four last time. Where are the others?'_ She had a bad feeling that the commotion they'd heard had something to do with it.

Her attention was drawn back to Clu and her primary when Dakin stepped forward and asked, "Sir, what happened? We heard fighting…"

"Rinzler attempted to escape," Clu told him. "He attacked me, and nearly derezed two of the guards. Fortunately, we were able to bring him back under control."

Her eyes widened, Clu having confirmed her fears about the fate of the other guards. If their injuries were as severe as Clu said, they would definitely need the services of diagnostic programs, and she and Dakin were almost certainly the closest ones available. Despite the selfishness of the thought, a small part of her was actually glad of the prospect, if it meant delaying having to put Rinzler through another painful procedure, especially in his current, obviously weakened state. Now, if she could just manage to make her vocal coding function and ask Clu about it…

Clu must have noticed her dithering, however, and spoke up. "They're already taken care of. All you two need to worry about is Rinzler here." He smiled in a way that she supposed was meant to be reassuring, but somehow, she didn't find it very encouraging.

Dakin, however, nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. After a few moments hesitation, she slowly nodded as well, more because she felt she had little other option than because she actually agreed. Clu handed her primary Rinzler's disc, which he took over to put in the reader, while she reluctantly went over to make certain Rinzler's restraints were secure.

She tried to work quickly, keeping her head down. She couldn't bear to look him in the eye again, not after everything that had happened. Those piercingly sharp, determined, yet compassionate blue eyes. The eyes of a program who'd been protecting the Grid since long before she'd been written. The eyes of a hero. Eyes that she was going to have to help change forever.

Then, he spoke to her, quietly, his voice roughened by pain, but still compassionate. "You don't like doing this, do you?", he asked.

She all but froze, the compassion in his voice causing something to twist painfully deep in her code. No, she didn't like doing this. She _hated_ doing this; it went against her function to knowingly cause such suffering to another program. She suspected that the only reason she hadn't suffered a severe programming conflict was the fact that she knew it was necessary.

Clu had told them everything. How he'd started to become concerned about Tron's behavior during the incident at the Sea of Simulation. How in the mircocycles following, he'd noticed a distressing shift in Tron's behavior patterns, suspecting that he was no longer acting in the best interests of the Grid. And then, the unthinkable had happened. Flynn, the Creator, had been derezed by a rouge system monitor under the influence of Abraxas' infection, and Tron had suffered a catastrophic glitch at his failure to protect him. Clu, having suspected that something was wrong, had sadly arrived too late to save the Creator, but had seen the rouge program fleeing the scene and had ordered his guards to give chase. When he'd approached Tron to ask him what had happened, Tron had lashed out, yelling about how he had to protect Flynn, derezing six guards and attempting to do the same to Clu before Clu had managed to bring him down.

Clu had told the Grid at large that Tron had also been derezed; better to have it believed that he died a martyr, defending the Creator, than to compound the tragedy by revealing to programs that their hero had failed, fallen in a different way. Clu had examined Tron's code closely, finding that the glitch originated too deeply in his code to be repaired; only this radical new form of repurposing- Clu called it 'rectification'- held any hope of returning Tron to a usefully functioning state. It would give him a new identity, as well as a new purpose; it was neither easy, nor pleasant, but it had to be done. And she and Dakin had been selected to do it. Aside from Clu and a few guards, they alone knew the terrible truth.

But there was not time to tell him right now, no way to express how much she wished that things could be different. How much she wished that she… and he… didn't need to be here. "It's the only way…", she finally managed to whisper in reply. "I'm… I'm sorry. But… there's no other way…"

She hurriedly finished her check, not wanting to give him the chance to formulate a reply. She had to focus on the necessity of her function. '_Focus on the task,_' she told herself, even as she finished her check and stepped away, nodding slightly to Dakin and Clu to indicate the restraints were secure. '_He's damaged, glitched and dangerous. Clu told you what happened._'

'_But he doesn't seem glitched and dangerous…_', a quiet part of her mind mused as she started back to her console.

'_And how would you know?_', she countered herself. '_How many violently glitched programs have you seen before now to compare him to? None, that's how many. Besides, Clu told you he was. Clu is the Creator's right hand, and all that's left of him now. You think he would knowingly do this to his friend if it wasn't necessary?_'

And that, above all decided it in her mind. Clu must hate the necessity of this as much as she did. Why else would he keep it a secret? He might not be able to spare his friend, but at least he could spare his reputation, his good name. He'd all but said as much. Yes, that was it. Then perhaps… there was something she could do for Tro- Rinzler… to make things a bit easier… both for him and Clu.

Summoning her courage, and fortifying herself with the knowledge that she was following her function, she stopped midway to her console and turned to Clu. "Clu, Sir…?" He turned to face her upon hearing her softly uttered question. She unconsciously lowered her eyes to avoid his steady, probing gaze. Still, she couldn't back down, now that she'd spoken. "Sir… perhaps we should allow… Rinzler… some time to recover, before we do this?", she offered tentatively. She shifted uncomfortably, aware of his unwavering gaze on her. '_Come on, Nira, you can do this,_' she encouraged herself. '_You're just following your function, remember that._' She took a deep breath, then made herself continue, explain, before she could talk herself out of it. "The readings indicate he was hit by a shock staff, possibly more than once… it must have happened in the fight. The process is very… rigorous. I… We don't want to risk damaging his coding, Sir…" There her voice failed her. She could only gaze at the floor, occasionally glancing up at Clu to see his reaction, and await his decision.

His mouth quirked into an expression she could only assume was meant to be a polite smile, though it didn't quite make it there. The cool politeness of his reply matched it perfectly, trying to give the impression that he'd really considered her request, but somehow failing to convince. "You dedication to your duty is admirable, program, but this can't wait," he told her calmly. "If Rinzler has a rougher time of it this time around, it's because he brought it on himself when he attempted his escape. Your concerns are duly noted, but Rinzler is a tough program; he'll survive."

He then turned away, back to facing Rinzler. The conversation was clearly over. As she nodded her acquiescence, she realized that the conversation had actually been over before it had begun; she may as well not have spoken, for all the consideration she'd been given. She returned to her console, silently starting to make the final few adjustments.

Dakin addressed her quietly as he finished his part of the final preparations. "That was well done, Nira," he said softly. "Your compassion does you credit. Just don't lose your focus on our current objective; Clu has asked us to help rehabilitate this glitched program. If you get too involved with _who_ you're treating, it'll only distract you."

She nodded, sighing softly in reply. She knew this, and agreed with it in principle, but the fact remained that this wasn't just any other program with a severe glitch; it was Tron. Or rather, Rinzler. She just couldn't manage to put that fact out of her mind for long. Not, she realized, that what she felt or didn't feel mattered in the grand scheme of things. Even if she hated her current task, she would perform her function, and she would do so to the best of her abilities, because that was what she had been written for. To do less would be to insult the Users, insult the memory of the Creator, and that, she would not do.

Perhaps, she realized, that was what Tr-Rinzler had meant when he'd told her that he had to resist the rectifier, despite her warning. Glitched or not, he was still a program, determined to do his absolute best for his User. This realization was of little comfort to her, but it somehow made the situation a bit more bearable, if only for the moment.

The final adjustments made, Dakin turned to Clu and informed him that they were ready to proceed. Clu gave the go ahead, and Dakin activated the rectifier. And as the process began, Nira somehow forced herself to concentrate on the readouts before her, and not on Rinzler's screaming, or the almost eerie quiet that followed when he fell unconscious. She made careful note of the rectifier's increase in efficiency without resistance… and steadfastly ignored how doing so made her feel like a viral, even as Rinzler was removed from the machine to be dragged back to his cell.


	7. Interlude: Walking Home in the Rain

Author's Note: Another day, another chapter. :3 Here we get a look at what's going on on the rest of the Grid. This is the first of possibly several (there'll be at least one more, but I'm not sure) such 'interlude' chapters. Anyway, on we go! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my fanchars. The rest is Disney's.

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With Rinzler firmly unconscious and likely to remain that way for some time while he recovered enough for another procedure, Dakin and Nira were able to return to their respective homes. After a brief exchange of farewells with her primary, Nira walked off, heading for the nearest solar sailer station. Her apartment was on the opposite side of the city, and, while she had the authorization codes for a light-cycle, she didn't own one, preferring less daring forms of transportation.

She paused in front of an info-board, which was looping a broadcast of a current news report; a lot, it seemed, had happened while she had been busy with her work. "_The final eradication of the ISO threat in Arjia City, personally overseen by System Administrator Clu, was successfully completed,_" the report droned, over images of the charred ruins that were once Arjia City, " _despite attempted interference by the virus Abraxas. Anon, the rogue system monitor responsible for the tragic deresolution of our beloved User and Tron, head of system security, was also reported to be in Arjia, where he derezed numerous members of Clu's Elite Black Guards. It is believed that his intention was to aid the virus in some manner, perhaps even to attempt to assassinate Clu. Fortunately, System Administrator Clu had returned to his command ship, the Regulator, to supervise the final bombardment of Arjia City and thus avoided contact with rogue monitor._"

The images changed, now displaying the visuals from the head-mounted camera of a recognizer, showing a massive hovering battleship. "_However, Anon and a female accomplice, name and function unknown, were later discovered attempting to sabotage the Regulator. While the female program was captured with relative ease, the rogue system monitor derezed at least a dozen more Black Guards before being interrupted by the virus Abraxas, which, having failed to derez Clu in Arjia City, proceeded to overload the Regulator's power-systems in a last-ditch attempt to kill our System Administrator." _The huge battleship in the image began to spark dangerously, portions of it partially derezing, flashing bright, viral yellow, before the entire thing exploded with a blinding flash, after which the footage abruptly cut off, as the recognizer that had been filming it was derezed. _"Fortunately,"_ the report continued, "_Administrator Clu escaped unharmed, and the Abraxas Virus has been confirmed derezed. The rogue system monitor, Anon, is also confirmed derezed, his fragmented remains having been found beneath a crashed recognizer in the Outlands, near the site of the Regulator's destruction."_ A brief image of the crashed recognizer, with several Black Guards examining the wreckage, flashed onto the board. "_The whereabouts of the rouge monitor's female accomplice are currently unknown. Any sightings of this program should be reported to the proper authorities immediately."_ An image of a female program with pale skin and short, black hair appeared on the screen for a few moments before the report began anew.

Nira sighed, pulling the hood of her jacket more closely around her face, feeling the drops of unprocessed, diluted data and energy pattering down on her and wishing that she'd thought to bring her umbrella. It seemed to have been raining a good bit more the past couple of micro-cycles. She wondered, as she began walking again, if it was a sign that the Grid itself was somehow sorrowing over the loss of its Creator. She found the notion rather poetic, if illogical.

Whatever its cause, the rain suited her bleak mood. She supposed that she should be pleased, or at least feel some satisfaction, knowing that the one responsible for their Creator's death was now himself derezed, along with the virus that had been rampaging through the system, but somehow the thought only increased the sense of hopelessness that had been infecting her code, a feeling as pernicious as any virus. More death, more destruction, that's all it was, on top of death of the Creator, Tron's supposed deresoltion, the viral attack, and the ensuing violence.

And all those poor ISOs… '_No, their deresolutions were necessary, to prevent the emergence of another virus like Abraxas,'_ she thought firmly. But she sighed aloud as the thought was immediately countered by another, with a tone that sneered at her own attempted justification of the ISO genocide. '_Sure, Nira, just keep telling yourself that and eventually you might even believe it.'_

Clu's personal dislike of ISOs was a well known fact, to the point that it was the subject of a number of jokes that had been making the rounds of Tron City, though most of them were rather crude for Nira's taste. She, personally, had no great problem with ISOs, partially because she'd rarely encountered any, and those few that she had encountered, mostly in the course of her work, seemed pleasant enough. She'd found them something of an enigma, with their strange origin and odd, unpredictable behavior patterns, but as the Creator had welcomed them, she'd seen no reason not to do the same herself.

But she knew that she was somewhat in the minority. Most Basics were wary of ISOs, if not outright disliking them. Eventually this led to violence, culminating in the poisoning of the Sea of Simulation by a group of terrorists. The Creator himself had stepped in, attempting to repair the growing rift between the Grid's inhabitants, but just as it seemed things were starting to look up, Abraxas had appeared. Abraxas, an unfortunate ISO that had somehow gone viral. With the tragic news of the Creator's, and supposedly Tron's, deresolutions, the Grid had needed someone to blame, and the revelation of Abraxas' origin had provided them with a convenient target for their grief-fueled anger. If any others felt as Nira did, that Clu's own rage, grief, and personal feelings toward ISOs were clouding his judgment, leading him to vastly overestimate the threat posed by the general ISO population, they also thought the better of voicing those thoughts, for fear of their fellow programs turning on them.

'_No one would have listened anyway,_' Nira thought morosely as the rain pattered down on her hood. '_If only the Creator were still alive…' _That thought brought with it a fresh stab of grief. To think that Flynn, their User, their Creator, had been derezed, that the portal to his world would never shine again, that his presence would truly never grace the Grid again… how could they all endure it?

She had actually met him once, many cycles ago. A faint, sad smile curled her lips as she recalled the meeting. She and her then primary had been part of the team of programs working on a new solar sailer design project, under the direction of a female program named Yori. Yori, she had heard, was Tron's counterpart, and a personal friend of the Creator, having been brought to the Grid from the old system. She hadn't really believed it though, until one micro-cycle the Creator had come by to visit his friend. She, like many of the other programs had paused in their work, awed by the presence of the Creator, until their sense of duty had drawn them back to it. The Creator's mere presence had seemed to inspire his programs to higher levels of functioning, increasing their efficiency and boosting their morale.

She herself had been conscious of it, a warm, oddly energizing feeling suffusing the air, filling her with a sense of deep satisfaction and purpose. Every task had seemed suddenly easier, the mildly tedious suddenly more pleasant, the already pleasant seeming more so. She had begun quietly humming a cheerful little tune to herself as she worked, something she rarely did. Then, as the Creator had been leaving, he had accidentally stumbled over a protruding cable as he'd passed by her station, dropping his light-cycle baton in the process. As she had been nearest, she'd bent down and picked it up for him without thinking, only really processing the situation when she'd stood back up and turned to give it back to him. He'd smiled at her as he'd accepted the baton back. "Hey, thanks," he'd said, at which she'd smiled shyly in return, nodding slightly.

He'd left then, but the warmth of that smile had remained with her for some time afterwards, and the memory of it to this very moment. Indeed, everything about him had been warm, genuine, friendly. He'd not only made those around him function better, but made them _want_ to function to their utmost potential, and made that functioning a joy. All these things he had been, had done… and would do no more. The Grid seemed so much smaller now…

All that was left was Clu, the last remnant of the Creator's dream, and, in a way, the last remnant of the Creator himself. But though Clu and the Creator were virtually identical in appearance, the reactions they provoked couldn't have been more different. Standing in Clu's presence on a regular basis made it more obvious than ever. Clu was powerful, certainly, and charismatic, but he was also cold and, intentionally or not, intimidating. Where the Creator's presence had empowered those around him, Clu's overpowered them, made them feel small and helpless. This was especially true for accessory programs like herself, who were written to be somewhat submissive, as their function required. Even when Clu was genuinely pleased with something, there was a certain… falseness about him that never allowed one to be wholly comfortable in his presence.

Distracted by her thoughts, she was totally unprepared when an arm reached out from the entrance to a narrow alleyway she was passing and grabbed her, yanking her into the shadows. Before she could react, the arm clutched her tightly against the body of its owner, and a hand was clapped over her mouth, effectively silencing her. Instinctively, she attempted to pull away, but the grip of the one holding her tightened with a desperate strength.

"Don't scream," her captor said quietly, in a tone that implied both an order and a plea. "I won't harm you," he assured her, "but I need you to be quiet and listen to me. _Please_."

Nira nodded quickly, trembling fearfully in the man's grip. She frankly doubted she could have screamed anyway right then; she was still too shocked, unable to even fully process the situation. But also, the clear desperation in the man's final word couldn't be denied.

"Thank you…", the man said, releasing his grip on her. She stumbled forward a step before whipping around to face her…assailant? She wasn't sure. She got her first good look at him. He was a tall, lanky program, wearing a sleeveless black top with matching pants and boots. He had pale gray eyes and short, equally pale white hair, which was currently unkempt, matching his current, haggard appearance. His silver-white glow flickered ominously, indicating that he was badly low on power. She realized why when, a moment later, her gaze was almost instinctively drawn to his right thigh; a long, shallow gash ran across it, occasionally losing code fragments when he moved.

"You're injured…", she said quietly as she saw this, the activation of coding relating to her core function giving her back her voice.

"Yes," the man said, confirming the obvious, his voice low and desperate. "You have to help me. The Black Guards are after me." He grabbed hold of her wrist with that same desperate strength. "Please! If they find me they'll derez me!"

Once again, she instinctively pulled against the man's grip, shock beginning to wear off enough for real fear to surface. "The Black Guards?", she repeated, confused. "But why would-?" She got her answer when she happened to glance down at the arm holding her and saw the faintly glowing mark. "You're an ISO…", she all but whispered, comprehension dawning.

"Please," he begged, "everyone else is dead. Arjia, Bostrum… they're all gone. I was on my way to meet a friend at the End of Line Club when…" There his voice faltered, his face twisted with grief and anger, but she knew. The whole city knew what had happened to the End of Line Club. "I've been on the run since. I… I might be the last… Please, I _have_ to get out of the city, before they-"

He was cut off by a shout and an orange disc flying at them from the far end of the alley. He ducked, shoving her forward and into the opposite wall of the alley at the same time, the disc ricocheting off the wall he'd been resting against immediately before, sending a small spray of code fragments raining down as the disc sliced into the wall before rebounding and looping around to return to its owner. She let out a small yelp, more out of surprise and fear than pain as she impacted the wall. The ISO didn't even glance at their attackers before breaking into a desperate, staggering run in the opposite direction, and a frightened glance of her own revealed why; three Black Guards were charging up the alleyway in pursuit.

The one in the lead paused just long enough to hurl his disc at the fleeing ISO. Nira let out a squeal of fright, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing herself desperately against the wall as the deadly weapon streaked by, mere pixels from her head. A cry of mortal terror, swiftly silenced, told her that the Black Guard's weapon had found its target. She opened her eyes just in time to see the ISO finish crumbling into a pile of derezed code fragments. She remained against the wall, paralyzed by shock and terror, even as the Guard's disc returned to his hand and he and his fellows approached her.

"Program," one of the Guards addressed her in a cold, mechanical-sounding voice, "are you injured?" Not daring to look at their masked faces, she shook her head, trembling, unable to voice a reply. "Then go back to your business," the Guard ordered. After a long moment, Nira managed to step away from the wall, taking a half-staggering step forward. She stood there, trembling, for a moment before giving the Guards a shaky nod and hurrying back out onto the broader thoroughfare, carefully not looking at the drezed remains of the ISO. Once around the corner, out of the sight of the Guards, she broke into a full on run. She pelted down the street as though a swarm of gridbugs was on her heels, ignoring the rain, ignoring the looks she got from the few other programs she passed, ignoring everything but her need to escape the scene she'd just witnessed.

She didn't stop, didn't even slow down, until she reached the solar sailer boarding platform, thankfully empty due to how late it was. She boarded the sailer, found an empty passenger compartment, and flung herself into a seat, shaking and panting for breath. As the doors to the passenger compartments closed and the sailer began to move, she drew her legs up against her chest, burying her face in her crossed arms, uncaring of the fact that she was soaked from the rain, and waited for the shaking to subside. And as the sailer sped majestically along its transport beam, Nira, huddled there in her seat, tried desperately not to give in to despair.

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Next up: Back to Tron's POV, as his transformation into Rinzler continues...


	8. Beginnings

Author's Note: Woo! Finally another chapter! And the longest one to date as well, if I'm not mistaken. :3 Anyway, many thanks to those who've been reading/reviewing this fic. You're all awesome! :)

Anyway, this chapter, we get back to Tron, and we begin to see the first inklings of the future Rinzler emerging...

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Tron is Disney's, and I make no money off this (unfortunately).

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_

_I walk into one of the main rooms in the factory complex, marveling at how much it has changed in the cycles since the MCP's destruction. Like most of the System under the MCP, it had once been dull, dark, and lifeless, full of equally lifeless, under-energized programs. It is now returned to its former glory, its simulation bays, rooms, and corridors filled with life, bustle, and purpose._

_It doesn't take me long to locate the program I'm here to visit. Yori, clad in her usual elegant but practical working attire, stands talking to one of her fellow designer-coordinators, discussing what seems to be plans for a new apartment complex, to replace the various dwellings that been razed or consolidated by the MCP in the name of efficiency. I pause in the doorway, smiling slightly as I watch her, marveling at my own good fortune for having her as my counterpart, enjoying the way her hair falls around her shoulders, her warm yet purposeful manner, the unconscious confidence with which she does everything…_

_I would be content to simply watch her until she noticed me, but I am here for a purpose, and the one who is waiting for us outside may not be as patient as I am. Yori looks up as I approach, then quickly excuses herself to her co-worker to come speak to me, walking over to meet me half way, greeting me with a bright smile and a kiss, a gesture introduced to us by the User, Flynn. It has since begun to catch on among other programs, but at least to me, there remains something special about this User way of expressing affection that is uniquely ours._

"_Tron!", she says happily. "This is a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you until I got home tonight."_

"_I know," I reply, "but something's happened, and I had to come tell you."_

_A look of concern spreads over her face. "Some new trouble in the System?", she asks. The reason for her concern is obvious; only recently have things mostly returned to normal after the MCP's destruction, and the last thing the System needs is the appearance of a new threat. But her fears are unfounded, in this case. _

_I chuckle and shake my head, reassuring her, "No, nothing like that. In fact, it's-" I pause a moment, considering how I should continue. "Well, it's something I really have to show you. Are you free for a few nanoseconds?"_

"_I can be," she says with a nod, her concern shifting to simple confusion and curiosity. "Things have been settling down a bit recently, so my leaving for a bit won't cause any major disruption."_

_My smile broadens at that. "Alright then, let's go," I say, taking her hand and leading her through the corridors of the factory complex, a hint of knowing mischief in my expression._

_She seems to have caught my underlying enthusiasm, for she giggles slightly as she asks, "Where are we going? What's the big secret?"_

_I glance at her as we walk, grinning. "He made me promise not to tell you," I explain cryptically, enjoying her ever more obvious curiosity. "Said he wanted to keep it a surprise."_

"_Who did?", she asks, both amused and slightly exasperated with my uncharacteristic evasiveness. "Tron, what's going on?"_

"_You'll see," I tell her, remaining cheerfully tight-lipped, not wanting to spoil it for her. It will be much more enjoyable for her to find out in person, the same way I did._

_When it becomes clear to her that I don't intend to say any more on the subject, she falls quiet, allowing me to lead her through the corridors of the factory complex for a few more moments. Finally, we come to a seldom-used side entrance to the factory complex, the same one, I now recall, that she and I had snuck out of to go to her quarters while we had been on the run from the MCP. Now, however, I open it with confidence, knowing that we no longer have to fear passing memory guards or recognizers. _

_Once she and I are outside, I close the door behind us, glancing around to locate the one who'd been waiting for us. "Well, what now?" I hear Yori ask._

"_More like 'who'," a familiar voice answers, and the one who'd been waiting for us steps out from around a corner to face Yori and I, grinning._

_Yori and I both turn to look, and Yori's mouth drops open in surprise. Though he lacks the armor of a warrior conscript that she had previously seen him in, there can be no mistake. "Flynn…?", she gasps. Flynn's grin broadens as he nods in confirmation, and a similar grin spreads across Yori's face. "Flynn!", she rushes over and hugs him joyfully. _

_Flynn returns the gesture, winking at me over Yori's shoulder as if to say, 'See, I told you she'd like it better this way,' and I can't help but grin in return. My reaction to Flynn's unexpected return had been similarly stunned and joyful. I had never thought to see him again, after the destruction of the MCP; his purpose in coming to the System fulfilled, he had returned to his own world, the world of the Users. I had caught a glimpse of his form rising through the MCP's vanishing communications beam as I ushered the Tower Guardians to safety. _

_Then, about 50 nanoseconds ago, I was called to the factory domain transport platforms. The attending program claimed that a new program had just rezzed in, and was asking for me, by name. As new programs generally don't know any other programs unless they're specifically written to connect with them in some way, they assumed perhaps he was a new security program designed to assist me. This had left me rather confused, as Alan-1 hadn't mentioned any such program the last time I'd communicated with him. However, I'd thought it prudent to investigate anyway, and when I arrived, there he was waiting for me, wearing a cheerful half-smirk, no armor or helmet, and much less circuitry than when I'd last seen him, yet somehow still unmistakably Flynn._

"_Greetings, program," Flynn had said, grinning and giving me a little wave, as if his sudden reappearance in the System was something less than miraculous._

"_Flynn!", I'd shouted with a mix of happiness and utter astonishment. "You're alive!" I'd stepped forward and gripped both his shoulders, needing to confirm this fact to myself._

_Flynn had laughed, returning the gesture. "Yup," he'd replied. "Turns out I'm harder to kill than I thought." Then his grin had shifted to a softer smile. "It's good to see you again, buddy." _

_Back in the present, Flynn and Yori break off their hug and Yori returns to stand beside me. I wrap an arm around her shoulders as Flynn straightens and crosses his arms over his chest, the grin never leaving his face. Yori wraps an arm around me as well, as we all spend a moment quietly savoring this reunion that she and I had previously thought impossible._

_Soon enough though, Yori speaks, addressing Flynn. "Flynn, it's wonderful to see you again," she says. "But how… why did you come back?"_

"_Well," Flynn replies, "the 'how' is kind of complicated. For now, let's just say that it's partly thanks to your User."_

"_Lora-3?", Yori asks, a note of reverence in her voice as she speaks her User's name._

"_Yep," Flynn affirms. "And as for why, well…" He pauses, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, "I missed you guys. I would have come back sooner, but things have been kinda crazy back in my world. Even with Dillenger and the MCP out of the picture, there was still damage control that needed to be done on the System, not to mention all the necessary discussions among us Users…"_

_I nod in understanding. "Yes, it's taken quite awhile to undo the damage done by Sark and the MCP," I say. "In particular, getting all the programs brought here by the MCP back to their rightful Users." My expression turns solemn as I add, "Those that hadn't been derezzed, anyway." Flynn's expression too becomes briefly somber, and he nods silently. I wonder if he, too, is thinking of Ram… Yori's arm tightens around me briefly, and I return the pressure, grateful, as always, for her support. I glance affectionately at her and she at me for a long moment before turning back to Flynn._

_Apparently wishing to change the uncomfortable subject on what should be a happy occasion, Yori speaks up, "Who's Dillenger?", she asks. I too had been wondering that, and so we both wait for Flynn's answer._

"_Hmm?", Flynn asks, apparently having become lost in thought. "Oh yeah, that's right; you guys wouldn't know about him. Dillenger," he explains, "was the User who created Sark and was primarily responsible for turning the MCP into the menace that it was." Flynn smirks again, and his voice takes on a note of dark satisfaction. "Don't worry, though; we're making sure that son-of-a-bitch gets _exactly_ what's coming to him. And one thing's for sure, he'll never even get near this System again, not if I have anything to say about it." His smirk broadens, shifting into a grin, the darkness fading from his tone and expression. "And as of this morning, I do."_

_I nod. While I don't quite understand the meaning of a few of the terms Flynn used, the implications are clear. This User, Dillenger, will be made to face whatever brand of justice is customary among Users for the suffering his creations inflicted upon the System, a thought which I find grimly satisfying. I fight for the Users, and it is comforting to know that somewhere there are also Users who, however indirectly, fight for us._

"_Which brings me to the other reason I came back," Flynn continues. "Now that things have finally settled down, there's a project I've got in mind. It'll take a little while to set up, but when it's ready, I want you two to be in on it. Heck, even Dumont, if he's willing."_

"_A project?", Yori asks. "What sort of project?" I too, wait for an answer; Flynn had mentioned this 'project' to me on the way to meet Yori, but he hadn't gone into any detail about it._

_Flynn shakes his head slightly. "I'm not gonna get into the details til we go see Dumont, see if he wants to be part of it too," he says. "But I will tell you this: if it works out like hope it will, it's gonna change the world…"_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_TRON-JA-307020... PROGRAM STABILIZED. COMMENCING REBOOT…_

I open my eyes slowly, stifling a groan. '_I'm getting very tired of waking up on the floor of this cell…_', is the first clear thought that comes to mind, as I give the ceiling a weary glare. Unfortunately, I highly doubt that this will be the last time I find myself in such a position, if Clu has his way.

Sitting up slowly, I perform a diagnostic on myself. None of my primary functions seem to have been permanently affected as of yet, either by the punishment they'd received when I was last active or by the coding the 'rectifier' implanted into me. "Thank the Users for small miracles," I mutter quietly to myself.

The new coding itself, however, is now more complete, and I scan it as well, hoping for a few answers. The results come back a few moments later. Several dozen partially complete override commands and about half as many layers of inactive coding that's still too incomplete to get a decent scan on. Much more than the last time I'd scanned; most likely because I'd fallen unconscious midway through the implantation, leaving the machine free to work.

With a sigh, I move to sit against the back wall of the cell, drawing one leg up and resting the corresponding arm on it, my thoughts turning to the dream I had had. Yori… strange that I hadn't consciously thought of her until now. I suppose that I should be worried for her, but… I know her well enough not to need to. She is brave, clever, skilled, and determined. More so than I am, in some ways. If anyone can outwit Clu, it's her. Besides, if she had been captured or derezzed, I have little doubt that Clu would be eager to taunt me with that fact.

I give a small, grim smile. Yori had never really liked Clu, nor did she ever quite trust him the way she did Flynn, and thus had avoided him whenever she could. Perhaps this distance lent her some perspective with regards to him; she had been the first to warn me that something had seemed off with Clu. And after the poisoning of the Sea of Simulation, when I had told her about Clu's thinly veiled threat against me, she had revealed to me that she'd been expecting something like this and had a contingency plan in place, just in case the worst should happen: taking Dumont and fleeing to the Outlands.

Normally, such a course of action would be considered suicidal, as it would be, if one didn't have access to a ready supply of energy. However, there were a number of energy springs scattered throughout the Outlands, if one knew where they were located. Which Yori, thanks to her position as the Grid's premier designer-coordinator, did, due to having access to plans for proposed future building projects. No doubt she, and hopefully Dumont, if she was able to convince him to leave his post at Tron City's IO Tower, were now safely hidden in the same sort of cave that had sheltered Flynn, Ram, and I after our escape from the game grid so long ago, planning to make contact with Flynn, if they hadn't already done so.

My faint smile vanishes, though, at the thought of what Yori must be going through. I have no idea what Clu has told the Grid as to what has become of me, but I doubt it is anything good, and I hate the thought of her suffering because of me. Because I failed, because I had been unable to see what Clu had become until it was far too late. And the ISOs… Yori has… had a number of ISO friends and coworkers whom she was close to. Another consequence of my failure.

And yet… perhaps Clu, and by extension myself, are not entirely to blame. Many of the ISOs had been openly derisive of, even hostile towards, we Basics. And the simple fact that Clu had been able to rewrite an ISO into a virus as deadly as Abraxas is worrying. '_Perhaps Clu was justified in his actions toward them after all, given that the safety of the Grid was at stake…_'

Suddenly, the faces of the ISOs I had known flash through my memory, as does the knowledge that they are all now derezzed at the hands of Clu's forces. '_Ophelia… Giles... Radia… Quorra…_' I feel physically ill as I realize what I just thought. By the Users, how could I even consider such a thing? Had I really just tried to justify genocide? '…_What is wrong with me?_' I can only think of one possible answer, which only serves to prompt a more chilling question. '_What is Clu trying to turn me into?_' I have a horrible feeling that I've only begun to find out.

Ruthlessly, I shove the offending thought to the back of my mind. I fight for the Users; I want nothing to do with Clu's twisted idea of what constitutes the perfect system. Yet, I find myself unable to completely delete the thought. I don't believe it, I don't support it, but it's still there, in my mind, put there and kept there by the coding Clu has been implanting me with.

Wearily, I rest my forehead on my folded arm. I can't recall ever having been quite this tired before, feeling drained as much by my state of mind as by lack of power. Even on the game grid in the old System, I could always rely on the strength of my convictions to see me through, but it seems that Clu doesn't even intend to leave me that…

"Are you alright?", I hear a soft, hesitant female voice ask suddenly. I glance up, somewhat startled, to see the blue clad woman who'd been assisting in my 'rectification'. I hadn't heard her approaching. I must be lower on power than I thought, if my reactions are slipping that much.

I sigh. "No," I reply honestly, "but I suppose you know that already." I can sense the vague brush of data that indicates a scan, or at least an attempted one; it's doubtful she could pick up anything meaningful from that distance and through the force field, even with specialized diagnostic protocols. However, she seems genuinely concerned, which, in my current circumstances, is refreshing. "You're a diagnostic program, correct?", I ask her, though it's not really a question.

She stops her scan and nods timidly. "A diagnostic accessory program, yes," she confirms quietly.

I nod my understanding. Being an accessory program certainly explains her general submissiveness, though she seems rather shy and subdued even with that taken into account. Not to mention afraid, which can't be helping with the former two qualities. Given the few hints I've had of what has been going on on the Grid since Clu's betrayal, it's not difficult to guess at least part of the reason for her fear. However, her extreme nervousness around me in particular is less easy to explain. Does she believe that the code being implanted into me has turned me into some sort of glitched monster, liable to attack without warning? Or is it some lie that Clu has told her about me? Or something else altogether?

"Here," she says softly, and I notice that once again, she has moved without my notice. "You… seem like you really need this. You looked like you were half in standby mode…" She is now crouched in front of the cell, her deflector cuff activated. She slips her hand through the base of the force field, depositing a vial of energy on the floor, just as she did last time . However this time, instead of drawing her hand back instantly, she gives the vial a little push, sending it rolling slowly in my general direction, as if suspecting that I may not have the energy to walk to the front of the cell and retrieve it.

And she may not be far wrong. Wearily, I nod my thanks as I reach out and take the energy vial. Upon closer inspection, I notice that it's a somewhat larger ration than before, however I'm too drained to really ponder the implications of this at the moment. I remove the stopper and consume the energy, not bothering to scan it this time. I can feel the effects almost immediately, the energy warming and revitalizing me, restoring me to my normal level of alertness. I sigh in relief, leaning back against the wall for a moment to allow my body to fully absorb the energy.

"Thank you," I tell the blue clad woman, who has now returned to her former position, standing just outside the forcefield. I regard her thoughtfully for a moment as she nods in response to my thanks. While she seems far too timid to be of any help as an ally in a future escape attempt, she is also the only program here who has been anything approaching friendly to me since I've been here. She also seems to dislike Clu's methods, which is another point in her favor. Even if, as seems to be the case, she couldn't be of any help in a fight, perhaps she could be a source of information. Or at the very least, a friendly ear. Well, only one way to find out.

"What's your name?", I ask her after a long moment.

She seems slightly surprised by my question, and it's another long moment before she answers. I wait patiently, allowing her to find her voice. "Er… I-I'm Nira," she finally says.

I smile slightly, giving her a nod as I reply, "Greetings, then, Nira. I am Tron."


End file.
